


Blame It All on Human Nature

by Perilous_Grey



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alpha Roy Mustang, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anniversary, Banter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Omega Edward Elric, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rated T primarily for Ed's mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perilous_Grey/pseuds/Perilous_Grey
Summary: “C’mon Al, so what if this year is technically our first fake cover story anniversary? No one cares.”“No one except you, who decided to make February twenty-ninth your fake anniversary in the first place because he couldn’t handle his own misplaced embarrassment.”“What’s wrong with Leap Day being someone’s anniversary?”“What’s wrong with Valentine’s Day beingyouranniversary?”
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54
Collections: RoyEd Valentine Gift Exchange 2021





	Blame It All on Human Nature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noctislucent (Baekhanded)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baekhanded/gifts).



> For the lovely Noctislucent, who requested soft and sweet ABO with a happy ending. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Relevant note: Valentine’s Day in 1924 was on a Thursday.

Ed picks up the house phone on Wednesday evening.

“What are you doing for your anniversary tomorrow?” Al inquires from several hundred miles away, hidden in the rolling hills of Resembool and therefore safe from Ed’s consternation.

“I hate you,” Ed lies.

“Uh huh, sure,” Al says absently, “you say that every time I ask about what you guys are doing to celebrate—”

“Why can’t you save this call for every four years? Calendars don’t lie, Al.” The nosy troublemaker could at least _pretend_ to be intimidated by Ed’s growly wrath. Not that Ed’s ever been truly angry with him, or ever would. It’s the principle. 

“Generally not, but older brothers certainly do. You especially.”

“Al.” Ed whines. Mentally, he can see Roy cringe—if there’s one thing dating a member of the nation’s highest ranking political leaders has tried to impress upon him, it’s that decorum is critical.

Ed vehemently disagrees. Even still, it’s _Al_. They’ve never cared about pomp and circumstance a day in their lives.

“Come on Ed, this year you get to celebrate both your fake anniversary _and_ your real one. What do you have planned?”

Ed silently curses himself. At the time, telling their friends and family his and Roy’s anniversary would only come around once every four years had seemed like a genius idea: they could only bother him about it during a Leap Year, assuming they made it that long. Plus, the hounding reporters that came with Roy’s continued rise in rank would leave them the hell alone every February, since they couldn’t seem to do it the rest of the year.

Then Havoc had gone and congratulated Roy on ‘finally making a move on Ed’, lamenting how it must be such a disappointment he couldn’t sweep his chosen off his feet every year since they started dating on February twenty-ninth. 

Before Ed could tell Roy he’d lied.

Ever since then, a fresh bouquet of flowers has innocently appeared come the twenty-ninth of every month. Ed scowls at the latest pick—red peonies and roses. “Hey, I’m not the one with a schedule that can flip at the drop of a hat.”

“Does that mean your heat is around the corner?”

“Wh—I—the _hell_ , Al?” Ed splutters, taken completely off guard, “just because you’re a fancy medical doctor certified in two different countries—” a fact Ed would remain insanely proud of until the end of time, not everyone could finish medical school _twice_ in different languages, “—doesn’t mean you can ask point blank if my heat cycle is also tracking as seamlessly as Roy’s event calendar seems to be.”

“But is it? You’ve made mention of potentially completing the mate bond more frequently these past few months.”

Ed instinctively reaches for the raised crescent scar on his left shoulder, idly tracing the faint impression of teeth. A thrill of heat raced down his spine, briefly warming his stomach before dissipating.

“It’s just been on my mind is all,” Ed grimaces, still unsure how to break the news that he and his alpha completed the bond months ago but still wanted to keep it to themselves for the moment. Not that he thought Al would be upset. He’d be ecstatic. If anything, Al would be disappointed he hadn’t been able to send them some kind of congratulatory gift basket or be the first to give them well wishes in starting a new chapter of their relationship.

Or Truth forbid, throw them a _party_.

“Well, heats aside, haven’t you commandeered Roy’s schedule for your own benefit during non-crisis laden times before?”

“Everyday’s its own crisis,” Ed mutters, still imagining the range of reactions to knowing he and Roy were as good as married, twirling the landline cord around one finger as he shifts against the kitchen counter. He’d badgered Roy into transmuting the short cord into a retractable cable so they could walk as far as they wanted and not be stuck standing in the hallway for a conversation that took longer than five minutes. “That’s not the point, Al.”

“That’s an excuse.”

Ed snorts. “Can’t get anything by ya, huh?”

“You wish.”

“I really don’t.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, listening to the other breathe, as if the distance was nonexistent and Al was right at his side like he always has been. 

Ed forces himself to keep his breathing even, one, two, three, four, in. One, two, three, four, out. Hold for four seconds, repeat. 

Eight years later and the sound of his little brother’s even breathing across a landline can still choke him up, reminding him how close they came to losing it all, the bare thin thread of hope that nearly snapped at the end of their long journey.

But it held.

That thread was made of blood, sweat, tears, anguish and determination, a precious metal that he refused to let go of because it would be the end of his own precious person, the first and only person to have a permanent place in his very soul.

Al quietly exhales on the other end of the line, a soft crackle in Ed’s ear. “Let’s hope Roy’s calendar doesn’t spontaneously schedule a crisis on your fake anniversary or your real one.”

Ed roughly clears his throat. “ _I_ just might.”

“Ed, no.”

“C’mon Al, so what if this year is technically our first fake cover story anniversary? No one cares.”

“No one except you, who decided to make February twenty-ninth your fake anniversary in the first place because he couldn’t handle his own misplaced embarrassment.”

“What’s wrong with Leap Day being someone’s anniversary?”

“What’s wrong with Valentine’s Day being _your_ anniversary?”

“It’s cliché as hell!”

“I think it’s quite romantic, actually.”

“Of course you would,” Ed grumbles into the receiver while running a hand through his hair, “you’re as romantic as they come, Al. A true old soul.” He curses as his fingers snag on a tangle that refuses to come loose. Damn hair. He knew he should have braided it as soon as he got out of the shower instead of leaving it down on the off chance Roy got home before he went to bed. The bastard always ran his fingers through the braid until it unraveled anyway. Stupid omega preening instincts. 

Al hums. “I think Roy might disagree.”

“Of course he would, he’s contrary.”

“Exactly like someone else I know.”

Time to change tactics. “So what if our sham anniversary only comes around once every four years, what’s not super special about that? Valentine’s Day is just abject consumer commercialism masquerading as a public holiday. What’s romantic about buying stuff for your significant other? It's just clutter.”

This time Al snorts. “Tell that to Winry.”

Ed rips his way through the tangle while pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at the receiver incredulously. “ _Ow_ , dammit—why does Winry care about my fake first anniversary? Doesn’t she have her own to worry about with Paninya?”

“Maybe because she believes it’s your first _true_ anniversary?”

“She shouldn’t be using what spare brain power she has worrying about some dumb milestone that isn’t even hers when I know for a fact she’s swamped in commissions because her fellow gearheads think automail screams romance.”

“It’s a very personal gift that can be customized,” Al defends, though Ed could swear he's heard the same words verbatim from Winry before. Probably the last time he called to complain about something.

“You just don’t want to piss her off because she’s housing you while Mei is off doing diplomatic things.”

“I’m not the one in the habit of doing so.” Al says. And then, quieter, “Wrenches hurt now.”

“Ha!” Ed crows, “Now you understand my pain.”

“I really don’t understand your masochistic streak, brother, and frankly never want to, though I’m sure Roy has a different opinion—”

“You shut your mouth right now Alphonse Elric,” Ed hisses, his face burning as hot as one of Roy’s miniature flames, “my sex life is none of your business.”

There’s silence on the other end.

“Hello?”

Ed waits a moment before pulling the phone back to check if the wire had been disconnected. Nope. Still attached to the newest glossy telephone model available on the market courtesy of General Mustang needing to take calls at all hours of the night. Peeking through the kitchen entryway to the front hall has a similar result: the main telephone cord is still connected to the wall. Maybe the distance had the connection on the fritz?

“Al?”

“How am I supposed to look Roy in the eye the next time I see him?” Al wails in genuine distress. 

Shit.

“Are you being safe? I assume you are since I haven’t heard about any hospital visits.” Al’s voice turns inquisitive. “Are you both regular members of the Central City BDSM scene?”

“Goodbye Al!”

“No wait, wait, you distracted me!—what are your anniversary plans?”

“That’s none of y—hold on, how do _you_ know there’s a BDSM scene in Central?”

“...An educated guess.”

“Alphonse—”

“Have fun and happy four year actual anniversary!”

“ _Al!_ ”

The dial tone rings loudly in Ed’s ear.

Roy chooses that moment to walk through their front door, stomping his boots on the front mat in the foyer to shake off the excess snow. “Honey, I’m home!”

“I hate you so much.” Ed calls out for the second time that night as he sets the phone on the marble counter. It’s equally untrue. “In the kitchen. Watch out for—”

There’s a clatter and a yelp, Roy’s gloved hands landing on either side of the kitchen doorway with a loud smack to brace himself, chest momentarily stuttering for breath. He blinks at Ed with a startled gaze. 

“—the phone...” Ed trails off. He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “You think you’d learn to watch where you’re going by now. How the hell did you survive this long?”

“That, my dear,” Roy says, all smooth charm like he hadn’t just narrowly avoided falling flat on his face five seconds ago, “is something I ask myself everyday when I wake up to your beautiful visage.”

Ed valiantly tries to stave off a blush. Four years and this asshole can still make him blush like a damn schoolgirl. “Pffft. Leave the smooth talking shtick at the door, I’m not one of your politicians that needs to be won over.” He rolls his eyes, turning around to tidy an already spotless countertop. Crap. Ed rapidly searches for a distraction and alights on the pair of coffee mugs sitting in the sink.

“I beg to differ—you deserve to be swept off your feet at any and every available chance—by me, of course.” Roy carefully steps over the phone cord and makes his way to the sink, placing his hands on Ed’s hips as the blond washes dishes to avoid facing Roy. He really didn’t need the extra teasing for a flaming face after Al’s call. “It is also remarkably easier to navigate our home when the telephone hasn’t been dragged halfway across the house.”

Ed snorts. “Blame Al, you know how much he can run away with a topic.” Like badgering his brother about his love life.

“Both of you can talk for hours about everything and nothing.” Roy comments, leaning in to nose against the back of Ed's neck, scenting. He follows the tantalizing slope to Ed's shoulder, brushing aside soft golden strands to mouth gently at the bite scar there. “What did Alphonse want?”

Shivers rack Ed’s frame, racing from head to toe and back, a feedback loop that only amplifies as Roy places a kiss to his claim. Ed pushes back into the warm chest behind him, cursing his instincts that want him to melt into a pile of goo and let Roy _care for him_ as if he can't take care of himself. 

Roy calls it spoiling but Ed doesn’t need that either.

Ed tilts his head a fraction, a small concession to his screaming lizard brain. "He wanted to know what we're doing for our first fraudulent anniversary." 

Roy immediately draws closer, nosing at his jaw before hooking his chin on Ed’s shoulder. "Not our real one?"

“Not really. He already knows you’ve got some sappy candlelit dinner with flowers and a _‘romantic walk under the stars’_ planned because you always do,” Ed says, suppressing the rush of warm and syrupy emotions that always surface at the thought of Roy being a giant sap. “He’s just calling to bug me about it and make sure I don’t conveniently forget or something.”

"Oh, I'm sure he isn't completely psychic," Roy murmurs with a hint of amusement.

Ed turns in his hold. "What are you all smug about?" He links his arms behind Roy's neck as the older man's clasp together at the small of Ed’s back.

"Oh, nothing."

"It's never nothing with you."

Roy grins. "You know me so well, my dear."

"Because no one else will put up with you."

"Spoken like a true mate."

Ed rolls his eyes. “Or someone with a spine who won’t put up with your bullshit for more than two seconds _and_ has the ability to kick your ass to Xing and back. Don’t change the subject.”

“Mm, that too,” Roy says distractedly, staring into burnished gold eyes and marveling at how such a magnificent creature agreed to be _his_. He knows he doesn’t deserve even the smallest scrap of Ed’s affections, but that won’t stop him from greedily hoarding them for as long as Ed will have him.

Maybe even ‘til death do they part.

“Have some patience.” Roy continues at Ed’s pout. “Haven’t you heard that good tidings come to those who wait?”

“I _hate_ surprises.” They’ve never brought him anything good in the first twenty-four years of his life and he doesn’t expect the universe to change its tune now.

Ed buries his head in Roy’s shoulder, remembering too late it’s the side with all the tiny bars signifying Roy’s rank and the hellish events he’s survived. Why are they so damn sharp? “I think I might need to reiterate that point about ass kicking with a demonstration soon,” Ed continues, voice muffled by Roy’s wool uniform, shifting to press his own nose to the hollow of Roy’s throat. 

Much better. Cinnamon, smoke, and the faintest hint of whiskey tingle over his senses, winding through his nerves until he’s completely enveloped in the feeling of _homesafetycomfort_. Unconsciously, he slumps further in Roy’s hold, trusting his full weight to be supported by his mate’s strength. “You’re not properly intimidated. Why is no one afraid of me anymore? Just because I can’t perform alchemy—” and boy had that taken a lot of time to come to grips with, let alone say out loud away from the safety of his own head, “doesn’t mean I’m not a force to be reckoned with.”

“Maybe we do need another demonstration of your awe inspiring ability,” Roy ponders, running his fingers through Ed’s hair and making him purr. “That would certainly help with recruitment.”

Ed immediately pulls back with glare. “I’m not your damn show pony—”

“That was a compliment of your unparalleled combat prowess—”

“No wonder your opposition has been gaining traction if _that’s_ the best you bring to the table trying to ingratiate yourself with them.”

Roy takes a chance and presses a chaste kiss to Ed’s pouting lips. “We were having a moment.”

“Were we? Because I could swear you were insulting me, actually—”

Roy quickly stifles a laugh. Ed believing he’s being laughed at is equivalent to waving a flag in front of a charging bull—not that Roy would ever dare, these days—but realizing it's because he’s pouting would mean he would train himself out of it, and Roy is far too selfish to allow such an endearing expression to never grace the light of day again.

Ed scowls at the mirth lighting Roy’s obsidian eyes.

Roy smiles winningly. “You’re gorgeous when you’re angry. And irritated. And plotting my untimely death.”

“That’s not an apology.” Ed huffs.

“That comes later. Preferably in our well cushioned, sinfully comfortable bed.”

Ed’s breathing hitches, to his irritation. “Oh really. Who said I was going to accept your apology?”

“I can be very convincing.” Roy purrs.

“Hmm,” Ed contemplates, toying with the small hairs at the base of Roy’s neck, grazing over his matching bite scar and feeling his body tremble deliciously. “Pass.”

Ed nimbly slips out of Roy’s arms, grabbing the telephone from the counter and strolling out of the kitchen, leaving Roy dumbfounded and staring at his own flabbergasted expression in the kitchen window that looks over their snow dusted backyard.

“Why don’t you try again on the fourteenth,” Ed’s voice floats back from the front hall, “that’ll give you time to refine your _convincing_ strategy. Hopefully with more favorable results.”

Roy tracks his uneven gate down the hall and through the living room, passing by the kitchen doorway once more with a sharp-toothed grin. 

“Have some patience, _dear_.” He disappears upstairs.

Roy contemplates following to persuade Ed of his undying love and devotion, thinks better of it, then puts on the kettle for a pot of tea instead.

******

Friday morning, the bedside phone wakes Ed long before he’d rather be conscious.

“So, what did you do for your anniversary?”

“Al,” Ed croaks, “it’s seven in the morning.”

“You picked up.”

Ed grumbles under his breath, feeling the strong arms wrapped around his torso tighten.

“Just tell him,” Roy rumbles in his ear, licking a stripe from bite scar to behind his ear, nuzzling at the pure unadulterated scent of Ed, instincts purring _matehomemine_. “I think my argument for finally announcing we’re mated was quite convincing.”

Ed’s inhales sharply. “I thought that was your apology for being an ass.”

“I think it serves as both,” Roy says, nipping Ed’s ear.

Damn him for having all of Ed’s erogenous zones memorized. “Fine,” Ed mutters, “but you’re fielding all his calls.”

One of Roy’s hands slides down his flank, dipping lower under the covers. “Leave the receiver off.”

Ed gasps.

“Ed? What’s going on?” Al’s voice in Ed’s ear reminds him he’s still very much on the other end of the line waiting for an answer.

“We’re mated _gottagobye_!” Ed hangs up on Al’s cry of delight, frantically throwing the whole machine off the side table.

Roy presses a smile into Ed’s chest. “Smooth.”

“Shut up and kiss me, alpha.” Ed threads his fingers through Roy’s dark locks, luxuriating in their silky texture.

“Whatever you desire, my omega.”

The rest of their morning was spent in a blissfully quiet haze of love and passion.


End file.
